Here’s a little something I wrote to Spike to kinda describe how I’ve been feeling about the whole process thus far: cancer, surgery, and chemo. It’s pretty personal, so if you’re just after the fluffy stuff, feel free to skip it. Here goes…
From Elaine to Spike
So, the deepest part of me is not very civilized. I’d say that’s the same for everybody, but I won’t make any sweeping assuptions. Maybe some folks are better at keeping the cavewoman inside and not experiencing it, okay?
So I love you on a level that is beyond the mind. I love you blood and bone.
The you I love is so much about your mind and your self, but really, the part I get to touch and interact with, that’s your body. To the cavewoman in me, that’s the real-life, solid you.
So along comes a disease that hurts you, grows inside you. I can’t see it, or touch it, or experience it directly. And I can’t do anything to combat it. I can’t fix it, make it go away, effect a cure.
And then the doctor comes along and, in the act of helping, does terrible damage to your sweet body.
I know it’s to help, right? I know it’s to cure.
But someone has cut this huge hole in you, left you weak and recovering, in danger and difficulty. It makes the way I love you, the way I experience you, the way we connect sexually — all changed. Yeah, I know part of it’s temporary. My civilized human does. But remember the cavewoman, okay? You were hurting, and then someone took a knife to you. And I couldn’t defend you from that.
Right now, I think I grieve your wounds perhaps more than you do.
Okay, so now you’re getting better from the surgery, and I can see you reach for something without my heart hitting my throat… and I have to … take you, my sweet love, into a place where they frighten you, distress you — and drip fucking *poison* into your veins as you sit and patiently let them.
And I have to let them do that, too. And watch you get sick from it. and let you go back into the place to be poisoned again. And again.
And it just kills me to do that, to allow that. It takes everything I can do to hold in the cavewoman — to not tear you away from them and run out the door with you in my arms.
But I can’t protect you from the medical intervention, because I know I want you to get well. My civilized human knows it all inside out. So I live with that particular dichotomy tearing my heart out.
I love you — did I mention that?